Grave Mistakes
by Lettingoffsteam
Summary: Dean gets drunk and puts his foot in it, and ends up with both feet in the grave: for DeanDamage: LittleFairy's 'Buried' challenge: "Dean ends up six feet under, buried alive. It's dark, it's confined, and his air won't last for very long. The only thing he has is a lighter and his gun. " M 'cause I'm paranoid; enjoy, review, I'm new to this so don't be too harsh! I don't own them!
1. Call Me Maybe

I don't own the boys, the Impala, the show, or even the main plot lines! Don't sue me, I'm just a fan :D

Grave Mistakes

Oh, this was priceless.

Six feet under. And he didn't even have the decency to be dead.

Dean groaned loudly, knowing no-one would hear anyway. His head was killing him, he had dirt in his ears, and his hand throbbed.

_Well done. Jerk. Stupid jerk. Arrogant bastard. Stupid, arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Hope you're happy._

And Sammy didn't even know where he was.

Greeeaaaat.

* * *

_12 hours earlier:_

"Sammy, you—you're my brother and all…but you're a real tight bastard."

"Look, you're already smashed, and we don't have the money to spare for any more bets. Let's just go back to the motel, you can watch one of your questionable late-night shows."

"S-a-mm-y. I'm all…really sober. I always know when I'm drink, and I'm not. So cut the whining…" Dean waved a hand floppily in front of his face, "and get me a drunk."

"Yeah, you're operating with all your faculties alright. Come on." Sam was beginning to lose his patience; Dean had spent most of what he'd made that week in credit card scams on booze and his latest stupid game; it started out that every time the door of the bar opened, he'd bet that he could get the phone number of each chick that walked in. And the bets just got bigger and bigger. He was doing well, but every time he couldn't get a number, not only did he have to pay his new drinking buddies, he had to have a double shot of straight vodka; extracurricular to the drinking he was continuing to do. So he got drunker and less able to string together sentences and pick-up lines, and he had to pay more, and drink more, and he was starting to lose more often than not, but he was oblivious. Because he was completely smashed. Dean had called Sam away from research, because he needed "help with something important". Turned out it was a cash-flow issue.

"Fun, Sammy! Have some, it's freeeeeee!" Dean giggled, burped, gave a look of panic as he wondered if he was going to vomit. His expression smoothed. "Now, lessay we get you a little drinky, and here—" he began rifling slowly through his pockets, bringing out a handful of phone numbers, half of which fell on the floor, or soaked up some of the beer spilled on the counter.

"Have a number, of one of those fine ladies…and maybe…heh….you'll loosen up?"

Dean grabbed Sam's hand, and pressed some slips of paper into it.

"M'kay?"

Sam blinked once, slowly. "Dean, you're going to pass out, or throw up, or both if you keep this up. And I really can't be bothered cleaning up your mess."

Dean hiccupped. "Won't." He spoke stubbornly, a child protesting against _no dessert until you finish your dinner_.

The back door of the bar opened, and a skinny, plain girl walked in.

"Hey buddy, time to try your luck." A hulking bearded guy elbowed Dean in the ribs. Dean almost fell off his bar stool.

"Hah! We got a live one, bro!" Dean nodded at the girl, grinning.

"Wow." Sammy raised an eyebrow. "Dean, I'm going back now, can you just come with me? I don't want to have to worry about you."

"Pshhh, don't worry, just chill. I'm gonna go make friends."

With that he careened, lurching, into the crowd, going in vaguely the right direction.

"Hey, beautiful," he slurred at the girl, who regarded him curiously, "I like your top, it's…wow."

She was wearing a tie-dye crop top with flecks of white.  
"I like the colours."

"Um, yeah," she said, peering around, most likely here meeting friends.

This guy was gorgeous, but he was smashed out of his skull, and that was never a turn on.

"So I should call your lovely self. Can I have one? A number? Because you and me are…floating on the cosmic highway, and we should just…share a moment." Courtesy the tie-dye, Dean figured a flower-child approach might work.

"Um…that's a really abstract concept."

Dean frowned, his expression otherwise blank. "Mmhmm."

"I'm going…over here now." The girl began to retreat, her wide-set eyes amused.

"Oh, don't leave! I was trying to tell you…I'm a pofressional tennis player."

The girl nodded, still walking away.

Dean frowned, turned away, staggered back to where Sam stood.

"Hm. Losing my touch, Samuel."

'Samuel' pulled a face.

Dean sat back down.

"Buddy, time for a drink. And the cash?" The skinny guy who sat next to the big guy leered at Dean.

"Oh, my asso-associ—Sam has it."

The bulky guy slid a clear liquid in a short glass over to Dean.  
"Bottoms up."

Dean grimaced, and downed the drink, wincing at the sharp taste.

Sam paid the man an exorbitant rate, and tapped his brother, whose head had begun to bob, on the shoulder.

"C'mon, time to go."

"Hey, wait a minute, you still owe us." The bigger guy stood up, and seemed to be doing an impression of André the Giant.

Sam looked up to meet his eyes. It wasn't often someone out-heighted him.

"Look, I'll pay it tomorrow. My brother doesn't know what he's doing."

Sam suddenly realised that if these guys, including the silent, short one sitting beside Dean, decided to turn violent, he wouldn't be able to take all three of them on.

"Maybe that don't matter," André said.

Dean swivelled his head round slowly. "I'll be back." He giggled, hiccupped.

"Dean, shut up," Sam hissed, his heart beating a little faster than usual.

"Oh Sammy, lighten down—up. You're such a down buzz. A wet blanket. Haha, why's the blanket wet? Did you wet the bed?"

Sam rolled his eyes, pulling Dean from the barstool.

"Hey, this guy," André poked Dean roughly in the chest, "owes us some serious cash."

Dean sluggishly followed the path of the guy's finger, then poked him back, somewhere around his solar plexus. "And you…owe me a serious explanation for that hairpiece."

The man stood silently fuming. He wasn't wearing a hairpiece.

"I don't think you know who you're messing with, bitch."

Dean's eyes snapped up, then continued tracing up blearily until they found the André's own grey eyes.

"I don't think you know who _you're_ messing with. Bitch."

"Dean! Would you _please_ SHUT UP."

"Oh, I think your friend here has said enough." Skinny guy got up, his short friend trailing him.

"Well I don't think I've said—ow." Dean rubbed his side where Sam had elbowed him.

"How about we all take a walk, huh?"

Sam blanched. This was not going well.

"Or, my brother and I could go to our room and get some more cash, some compensation, maybe?"

"Oh yeah," Skinny scoffed, "not like you're gonna run out on us or anything. How's about you leave your brother here, and he and Tony can have a little chat while you hurry off to make good on our arrangement?"

"Uh…"

"Yeah, Sam, go do something." A vague recognition of their position had seemed to hit Dean, sober him a little. "I'll just wait…here…and you can…_do _something."

Sam swallowed hard. "If you guys try anything…"

"You don't trust us?" Shorty asked. His voice was thin and whiny. No wonder he kept silent.

Dean had managed to pick three total scumbags to be his drinking buddies. The guy had skills.

"Uh…Dean?" Sam appealed to his brother to be the final decision maker.

Dean was staring at his shoes, dizzy. "Uh-huh."

"So…I'll be back in ten minutes?"

"Oh, you going?"

Sam winced, ground his teeth. Dean would have no chance at beating Shorty alone, he was so blasted.

"I told you. I'll be back."

"Okay." Dean sat back down at the counter. "Barkeep, another ale!"

Shorty, André and Skinny crowded back around his as Sam left, a sick feeling in his gut.


	2. It's not about the money, money, money

I don't swear in these, not quite sure why (oh, apart from the occasional _shit_), guess it just feels more Winchestery.

I'm not into any of the songs I'm using for chapter titles at all, but they just seem to fit ironically.

Set after the Benders sometime.

Hope this is still making sense, bear with...

* * *

As soon as the younger brother had gone, the trio hustled Dean out the back.

"Well boys, I'm flattered at all the attention…" Dean slurred, his eyes on the floor, feet scuffing the floor as André and Skinny dragged him by the elbows.

"Man, you do not want to piss Tony off."

Tony grunted. He sounded as much like a bull as he looked, down to the tuft of coarse hair sitting lopsided on his shiny pate.

"Tony, I have a…something…to pick with you. A bone!" Dean rolled his head back, trying to angle it so he could look at Tony and also not have to hold it up.

"Yeah, I'll bet."

"So, where we going? I gotta hit the head."

No-one answered.

They came out in an alley, and turned down it.

"Huh…what's the plan, man?" Dean tried to walk for himself, shrug the two beside him off, but he found they were holding on tight.

"Oh, it's a secret." Skinny put a finger in front of his lips.

Dean mimicked him conspiratorially, his brow furrowed.

"I was just curious, 'cause Sammy norm'ly wants to know and…where_ is_ Sam?"

Dean's grip on reality was as hazy as his vision, but Sam not being there, and being dragged by some idiots into an alley, and not being able to make words come out right didn't seem exactly kosher.

"Your brother's trying to help you out, man."

"Sammy's a good boy. He gave me this—" Dean tried to hold up his pendant and found his arm was indisposed. "Oh. Well, he did."

"Okay, guy, you're a real laugh but it's time to shut up now."  
"You sound like Sam, he's all 'shut up Dean, you're gonna get us killed' and I'm like 'no I'm just gonna talk to them', and he's like 'we should talk about our feelings' and I'm like 'no Sam you're a girl, stop being in love with Justin Beiber', and he's all—oof."

Tony gave a satisfied sniff as Dean, winded, ceased and desisted.

* * *

Sam's hands shook as he rifled through their bags. They didn't have nearly as much handy notes as he'd thought; he'd have to rack up some charges on a card or two.

Grabbing what notes they had, along with Aaron Schumaker and Letitia McPherson's credit cards, he left, slamming the motel door a little hard.

He withdrew enough that his wallet was struggling to close, hoping anything else Dean might have said in his absence could be righted with cold, hard cash.

It was probably unlikely.

Which was why he had brought Dean's Beretta. Just in case.

* * *

"You know Tony; you kinda look like Jennifer Aniston… with your hair all blowing in the wind—ow. Dude, take a compliment!"

They loaded him into the back of their suspicious looking black van, sparing no time for comfort.

"Look, guys, I love surprises but…where are we going? And what did you do to my legs? They're all…look, they don't move right." Dean spent a few silent moments pretending he was a marionette, before focusing. "I don't wanna go in the van."

"Would you shut _up! _Damn, boy!"

Dean pouted. "No one tells me anything. I just wanna know…"

"What is he, five?" Skinny rolled his eyes.

"I can't believe we bagged a hunter. I mean, a real, live one. " Shorty simpered, eyeing Dean up. "He's pretty. For one of them. Usually it's all beards and angst...but look at those eyes. Very pretty. Boss is gonna be _so_ pleased."

"Hey, don't you objectirise…ify…me." Then the words sunk in. Or the word. _Hunter_, he'd said. Dean's jaw went slack. "What'd you call me?"

"Yeah, big woop, we know what you are, man. Now just shut your cakehole, or Tony'll shut it for you."

"If I wasn't ineberated, I would totally kick your ass. Okay….won't try any more big words."

Dean wondered for a moment how he had gotten into this mess. He was in a_ van_, when did that _happen_?

"Dude, I am so…drunk," Dean let the last word out as a laugh, his eyes moving a little faster than his words. The sliding door of the van was covered by Tony, the passenger door by Shorty, and the driver's door by Skinny. His best bet was to try and get past Shorty, but he still had Tony the Giant to deal with.

No exit, Dean.

Oh, crap.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam felt the panic clawing its way into his voice. No Dean, no jackasses. So no jackasses at all, then.

"Hey, man…you know my brother, the…drunk one, you seen him?"

The barman gave a look. "You know how many drunk guys there are in a _bar_ at any one time."

"He was doing vodka shots and—and getting phone numbers," Sam said, indicating the bar, which was still littered with scraps of paper.

"Oh, that jackass."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief.  
"Yeah, him and his pals left a while ago."

"Did they say where they were going?"

The guy looked at him. Sarcastically; "yes, they told me, a lowly bartender, their plans for the evening. I have no idea where they are, and frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

He turned away, shaking his head.

Sam felt his heart sink. Gone. This was really not good.

"So, how 'bout your brother, he a hunter too?"

"Ha, s'the family business." Dean held a hand up over his mouth in exaggerated horror, realising he'd let something slip.

The two in the cab started conferring.

"And where were you two staying? Which motel?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. You'll never know," he hiccupped. "I'm gonna be sick."

"Jeff, pull over."

"Jeff", or Skinny, shook his head. "Nah, man, it's a trick."

"These are not the droids you're looking for. I'm…" Dean gagged, his head spinning.

"Jeff! This is _my_ truck and I do not want _his_ puke in it." Tony jabbed a finger at Dean.

"I'm insula-insulted."

"Okay, man. You watch him real close."

The sliding door opened, and Tony pulled Dean out after him by the collar of his jacket.

Dean shrugged him loose. "Don't manhandle me."

Tony set his jaw, a hard expression in his face.

"Get to it."

Dean blearily walked a little way from the van.

"Where you going?"

"Uhhh…" Dean considered. "Not sure. You guys have been fun and all, but I think it's time we part ways…I'll always remember you as the guys who_ almost_—"

Tony grabbed the back of his coat tightly and yanked, dropping Dean easily.

"Ow. I scraped my knee, mommy."

"This guy—can we kill him?" Tony dragged Dean back into the car.

"Y'know he wants them alive."

Dean escaped, pulling himself out of his jacket, managing to stumble into a side alley.

"Oh, please can I kill him?" Tony growled, mirthless.

"Go get him."

The alley had seemed like a good idea, but turned out it terminated in a brick wall.

"Hey, little guy."

"_Little_? _Little_." Dean turned to face the giant, squaring his shoulders. "I'll have you know I'm taller than Iron Man." Dean nodded, grinning slightly, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah well," Tony came closer, towering above Dean. He had to be at least 6'9.

"Dude, if it wasn't for your third chin you coulda played for the lakers!" Dean's was the awed voice of a child.

Tony growled.

"You're such a stereo…ical baddie."  
Tony hit Dean. It hurt.

"Now come on." The giant picked Dean up off the floor.

"Ha!" Dean shouted, managing to escape from the giant's grip.

He started running, getting up speed. Until he tripped. Over Shorty's boot.

"Let's get outta here."

Tony loaded a winded, weakly protesting Dean into the van.

And then Dean puked.

* * *

Crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrapcrap crap.

Crap. _Crap_.

He had no idea where to go.

Dean being gone had never been a plan. He was meant to be there. Sam might be taken but Dean'd find him.

Now it was Sam's turn and there wasn't a single thing to go on.

_Okay, don't panic._

_Why not?_

_It won't help anything._

_What _will_ help?_

Sam sat in the Impala, parked outside the bar.

A flash of brilliance hit him.

He got out his phone and dialled Dean's number. To his surprise, it worked.

* * *

"Hello? Sammy! Nice to hear from you, man! Oh, I'm in a van—can't talk right now—"

Tony snatched the phone from Dean's grasp, handing it to Jeff.

"Now that's just rude."

"You the brother? Uh huh. Okay, you want him back?" A pause. "We can make some sort of deal."

"Sammy? I'll be fine, save yourself!" Dean tried to express the right sentiment but found his brain could only spill catchphrased nonsense out.  
Tony silenced him with a jab to his throat.

* * *

"Let me talk to my brother."

"What, so he can blab?"

"I need to know he's okay."

"He will be, unless you don't come through."

Sam gritted his teeth. "Just put him on."

* * *

Dean wheezed into the phone.

"Dean, you okay?"

"I'm…fine…" he managed to rasp.

"They do anything?"

"Nah. But their company….leaves a lot to be desired."

Sam was amused despite himself. "Okay, they want to meet, so I'm gonna get you back, okay?"

Dean nodded.

"Dean? You there?"

"Oh. Yeah. Okay, Sammy. Don't trust these—"

Tony yanked the phone back.

"Guys."

"Okay, so we'll meet at Joe's…what? It's a diner. One hour. And you'd better have money, a lot." Jeff hung up.

"Can I have my phone back?"

"You won't get reception where you're going."

* * *

Sam's jaw worked as he navigated his map, making for the diner.

This didn't sit right, at all. They'd said they wanted money before, so why not wait for it? Dean must be important.

And now they wanted Sam too, or they wouldn't pretend to be giving Dean back.

So Sam could only conclude that these chuckleheads knew what was what.

Which begged the question, what were they planning on doing with a couple of hunters?


	3. Hands Down

Okay, so I think I know where this is going, bear with, it's getting kind of plotty. I do actually have explanations for most of what's going on, which will become apparent...soon. As usual, poor Dean and a little bit poor Sam as well.

This is going to be longer than I thought...

I've mentioned somewhere that there was a time Dean got drugged while out one time, because I'm thinking of writing that at some point...enjoy, sorry for any mistakes or plot holes, there are probably a lot :L

* * *

Sam sat at the bench in the diner, shiftily looking around. He didn't want them to get the jump on him.

There, a familiar face. Skinny.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," he wheedled, sitting next to Sam.

"About time too. Where's Dean?"

"Where's the money?"

Sam blinked. "You actually want the money?"

"Of course. Money makes the world go round."

Sam frowned.

Then everything went black.

* * *

"'s going on?" Sam shouted, opening his eyes to darkness. He was tied, wearing a blindfold.

"Our boss is real interested in you and your brother, and we like to oblige him. Just lay nice and still and all this will be over soon." That wasn't Skinny's voice.

They were in a car, Sam could tell from the motion. He lay on the back seat, ropes around his ankles and wrists. But the idiots had tied his hands in front of him.

Sam wriggled around so he was facing the seats rather than the driver.

As quietly as he could manage, he worked at the knots which bound his wrists. They might have been done by a child.

Sam almost laughed. They were amateurs.

Two of them were in the car; he could recognise the high voice of Shorty, and Skinny had been at the bar, so Sam assumed the trio had split up. That left drunk, obnoxious Dean with the giant, who didn't seem the most tolerant guy. Sam groaned inwardly.

He managed to get his hands out, and curled up in a ball, shielding his movements as he got his feet untied.

Now he just had to wait for a good moment.

* * *

"I told you, I'm a man of my word."

Dean lay on the ground in a feverish haze of pain, tears sheeting down his face.

He couldn't manage to form articulate words, so he just kind of groaned and swore inaudibly.

Tony was the only one here now. Dean might have tried something but his _hand_.

It felt like it was made of ice shards, that kept shifting and stabbing into him; and the ice was so hot it burned and throbbed.

If he so much as thought of moving, a jolt of agony would claw up his arm, to his neck and into his skull where it remained, not fading.

"Sfavbitch."

"Come on, get up. We got a long road before we get where we're going."

Tony pulled Dean's arm. Dean didn't move.

"Hey, get up, I said."

Dean could hear the edge of panic in Tony's voice. Looked like they weren't meant to damage the merchandise. Well, let him panic. He _had_ damaged it.

"Get the hell up!" Tony gripped Dean's arm hard, and tugged him upward.

Dean managed to find his feet just before Tony let go, making him lurch forward and almost fall.

"Right, now into the van."

Dean opened a blurry eye. "Snowing?"

"It's not snowing, asshole, it's the desert."

Dean heard that somewhere in the back of his brain.

But his eyes still showed him fine white fragments. "Snowing."

Tony felt a little alarmed at this point. Boss liked his…produce…fresh and unharmed.

It was odd, really, considering what he did to them.

"Look, just get in the van and you can lie down."

Dean frowned. "'m fine. Stay here. Christmas."

"It's_ not_—" Tony puffed out a breath. "It's not snowing."

* * *

"Right, so where now?"

"Not in front of guests, Jeff."

Sam pulled his blindfold off, crumpling up his nose. The car smelled like a public toilet.

"Okay, well can you whisper or something? When I drive I like to know where I'm going. I don't know these parts."

"I'll tell you when to turn."

Sam rolled over. The two in the front were absorbed in their argument.

Sam crossed his fingers mentally, and reached for the gun stashed under his jacket. He grinned. Amateurs.

He moved quietly until he was positioned right behind the driver.

Then he cocked his gun. "Nobody move."

Skinny froze, almost parodying the cartoons.

"Easy, guy. No-one needs to get hurt." Shorty's voice was lazy, unconcerned.

"Know what? I think you mean no-one but me and my brother. And that just does not sit right with me. So shut your mouth, your voice is really starting to annoy me. Where are we?"

Sam addressed this question to Jeff.

"Heading out of LA. "

Sam raised his eyebrows. LA was maybe a couple hours from where they'd been; Bakersfield. There were supposed to have been vampires but it looked like it'd been stupid kids messing around. He'd been out a while. So that made almost four hours since Dean was taken from the bar.

"Where are you going? And why?"

Shorty gave a look to Jeff. "Sorry, you don't get to know."

"Stop the car."

Jeff looked panicked.

"Jeff. Stop the car." Sam spoke through his teeth.

"Boss'd do worse than you, kid." Shorty was unnervingly calm.

Sam pointed the Beretta at him. "If you don't stop the car, I'll have to stop it. And I try to avoid killing humans where possible."

Shorty shrugged. "You hunters, think you're so scary just 'cause you lopped the head off a vamp or two. Get over yourself."

Sam was taken aback at the guy's casual knowledge. "And what the hell are you?"

"You're quick. But why would I tell you?"

"I assume you don't like being shot?"

The guy shrugged nonchalantly. "Had worse."

"Okay, I really don't…care. Stop the car."

"Oh, so you don't ever want to see your brother again?"

"What?"

"We're taking you to him. Unless—Jeff, stop the car."

Jeff slowly ground down of the brakes.

"Unless you want to try finding him in the middle of the Mojave Desert."

Sam swallowed. "Keep talking."

"Our large friend is out there somewhere right now, preparing the other hunter for our boss. He likes things…a certain way, you understand. Rules, rites, rituals, all that jazz. Particular, these creatures are. So—" the short one turned, gazing at Sam flintily, "unless you want your brother worse than dead, I suggest you calm yourself and hitch a lift."

Sam grimaced. "Jeff, put your foot down."

Sam didn't like the sound of this boss. Far too particular.

* * *

Dean opened his eyes with a grimace. Everything had turned 90 degrees anticlockwise while he was out.

"Oh, son of a bitch."

"Awake, then?"

They were in the van again, which smelled terrible.

Dean lifted his head, and the world returned to its usual planes.

He was thirsty, lips cracked, and his broken hand felt far too heavy for his broken wrist.

"Wh'r we?"

Tony didn't answer. That might have been because Dean's dry throat could only spit out a croak.

On the bright side, the snow was gone. On the downside, his watch revealed it had been 6 hours since the bar, and he couldn't remember more than one hour put together.

_Sammy, you better find me._

"Nearly there. God knows I'll be glad to get rid of you." Tony spoke almost to himself.

Dean swallowed thickly. It felt like they were in the desert. Come to think of it, it was awfully dry and deserty outside the dust-streaked windows of the van. He had a vague recollection he'd been out there. Maybe when…

_Tony could feel the anger bubbling inside him the way a soup pot bubbles. He was worried he would lose it, and kill this guy. _

_The others had gone and now there was nobody to stop him if he wanted to cause damage. But the boss, he didn't like them damaged, because of the blood loss…Tony shivered._

_"Listen, bigfoot. I'm sure you're not as stupid as you look…no, that would be very…very…I mean VERY difficult. You know what I do…so…just lemme out at the next bus stop."_

_Dean hiccupped, his eyes trying to close. They'd left the bar at about 0300 and now he was drunk, tired and he couldn't sleep because he had a headache._

_So he'd spent the last half hour or so digging at the big guy, knowing full well "Bigfoot" wasn't allowed to hurt him._

_"I'm going to kill you. I'm going to, I will."_

_Dean huffed. "You're no fun. Listen, this pimp that made you all his bitches…your "boss" if that's what they call it these days—"_

_Dean was tossed forward as the van jerked to a stop._

_Tony got out, breath heaving like a racehorse._

_He dragged Dean out of the van by the collar of his shirt, heaved him against the van, and shoved a beefy arm under his throat, holding him up._

_"No, you're not allowed!" Dean breathlessly slurred, his eyes struggling to focus._

_"Boss don't like blood spilled. Didn't say bones."_

_Dean didn't have enough time to panic before Tony gripped his wrist tighter than seemed possible, squeezed his hand and then twisted until—_

_Dean screamed, muffled by the man's arm. He felt something like an electric current move up his arm and then his body went limp._

_Tony stared a moment, looking at his own hands, then at Dean, crumpled on the floor._

_"Crap." _

Dean huffed, feeling the events of the past few hours coming back.

He'd gone completely out of control. That didn't happen often, or without reason.

Oddly, he couldn't remember ordering his first drink…but he could remember some of the later ones now.

He couldn't have been…no.

He was always careful to order his own drinks in case someone put something in one. After that last fiasco…well, he was far more conscious about that.

So he couldn't have been drugged. Right?


	4. The happy elf

Sorry, sorry, sorry, exams!

Fic was okay for English revision…well, you know.

But I had math and asdfgjkl everything else and no time because I was drawing too much!

But I'm back, and I'll finish this bastard, I actually know what's going to happen…I think. I say that, but it'll probably end up completely different to what I have in mind.

Thanks for the reviews guys, good motivation!

* * *

"How much further?"

"Couple hours. I can definitely see the family resemblance. When you open your mouth."

Sam raised an eyebrow. Sure, he'd been agitated, asking "how much further" every…ten minutes?

But Dean was _definitely_ more annoying than him.

"Just keep…what are you doing? Sitting there being an asshole?"

"Yeah, that's about it."

Shorty sniffed, tapping his fingers against the car door, half humming a tune.

Sam rolled his eyes, rubbing a fist down his face. He smelled of dirt and bar.

_Dean, when I find you…_

* * *

So if they'd drugged him, they probably knew he was a hunter before they met him.

Dean still couldn't believe he could have been careless enough to let that happen, but he had to assume…

Either they had great sleight of hand abilities, or at least one of them was not all human. The far more likely option in Dean's line of work.

Tony certainly looked…different. He was tall and wide. Dense would be the best way to describe him.

The corner of Dean's mouth lifted, but he bit back the amusement.

He was being serious now, dammit.

Tony could be a—something. What, an ogre? Ridiculous. They hadn't come across anything like that before. Yeah, well that's what they thought when the bugs came after them, and that had been _so _much fun.

What about the others? Skinny was probably nothing interesting just some idiot messing with things he didn't understand. Shorty could be something supernatural; he had the right kind of irritating, confidant attitude.

Or they could all just be idiots hoping to get payed.

Dean exhaled, blinking hard once or twice.

"So where are we going?"

"Huh. Drama queen, bet you were acting. Or just a pussy." Tony laughed, a low kind of drone.

"I said, where are we going?"

"I guess it doesn't matter if you know. We're going into the desert. 'cause boss is there. And he's pretty hungry." Tony chuckled again.

"You are going to drive me insane. I might be dangerous if I lose it. I might be one of those extra-strong, crazy—would you stop laughing? Please. Oh, sonofa—"

* * *

"Uh…Jeff. That's your name."

"Yes."

Jeff kept his eyes on the road, jaw set.

"Who's the boss?"

Sam saw Jeff's Adam's-apple plunge as he swallowed.

"Not supposed to tell you."

Shorty was sleeping…it looked like he was anyway, but he wasn't to be trusted. He was definitely the brains of the outfit. Shorty was the brains, Tony was the muscle, Jeff was…what, the face?

It wasn't a bad face; it was just that he did look a lot like a girl.

"What's the boss going to do to you that I can't?"

Jeff swallowed again. "Lots."

"Listen, if you tell me what's going on, I can help. You're obviously scared of your boss."

Jeff smiled then, humourlessly. "You have no idea."

"So tell me? Please?" Sam composed his face, in that way that almost always worked on Dean; the puppy-dog eyes.

Jeff glanced back at the mirror. "No. Boss'll kill me. Everyone'll kill me."

"What if I could protect you? Me and my brother?"

"Haha, 'cause you're so good at protecting each other." Jeff's lips quivered.

_Seriously, it was going to be this easy?_

Sam nodded. "Well, we've done pretty great up until this point."

"Fair dues, we aren't playing fair."

"Listen, if the boss is so bad, why don't you leave, run away?"

"He'd find me. They all would. And I couldn't protect myself. I thought I could, but…"

"Listen, we can help." Sam found himself sympathising with this guy, who had kidnapped his brother and Sam himself, for that matter. He shook himself. "Tell me what the plan is, we'll help."

"No. I don't want to die. "

"You won't _die_, we'll help you." Again, that feeling…like this guy was vulnerable and Sam _had_ to help him.

"What are you?"

Jeff raised his eyebrows, wide-eyed. "What?"

"You're not human, or, at least, not all human. So what are you?" Sam brought the Beretta up, levelling it at Jeff's chest, a little to the left, through the back of the seat. "I don't actually care much whether you live or die. I want my brother back. If you don't help me, it'll end bad for you."

"Hey calm down. Okay…there is far more truth to some myths and legends than you might think."

"Yeah, I know, I've seen a lot of things I'll never unsee."

"Yeah but you haven't seen everything."  
"What are you?"

Jeff slowly pressed his foot to the brakes, watching Shorty out of the corner of his eye.

"Okay. You'll help me if I show you?"

Sam nodded, trying to make his face as earnest as possible.

The car came to a halt. Jeff leaned around his seat, his bright blue eyes brighter in his pale face.

"Okay…just…don't laugh."

Sam frowned. "I will if it's funny."

Jeff swallowed, tucking a hank of dark hair behind his ear.

* * *

"What!? No. No, that's not—no!"

"Told you, you haven't seen everything."

Sam tried to subdue his voice, to avoid waking Shorty.

"But that's not real! It's just in cartoons!"

Jeff turned back to the driver's seat, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Oh, he's going to kill me."

"But I can't—okay. Okay." Sam composed himself. "Okay. So you're a…fairy?"

Jeff scoffed. "Really? No. I'm an elf."

"Huh. You're an elf named Jeff. See how I'm not laughing?"

"Great work. Now shut up or the little guy'll hear you."

"Is he…?"

"An elf? No. Have you seen his face? Far too ugly. "

Sam half nodded. That was true. "So what is he?"  
"He's an Amanjaku."

"What's that?"

"It's like a little troll sort of thing. He's bad, real bad. He has these persuasive powers, it's creepy as hell."

"Huh. And the big fella?"

"Troll."

Sam screwed up his face, a too-high laugh escaping from his wildly. "This is not my typical day."  
"Told you."

Sam rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "And what can you do?"

"Oh…just…um. I can sorta…create a mood, like…just in humans."

"A mood like…?"

"Well, more of a state of mind. Like…drunkenness."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Remind me why I'm not rearranging your face?"

Jeff grimaced. "You need me."

"I guess." Still, it would be satisfying to break Jeff's straight little nose.

* * *

"That's it, we made it! Finally."

Dean opened his eyes. They were still in the desert. No landmarks.  
"What, five minutes ago didn't work for you?"

"Shut up. Time to get out."

Tony manoeuvred himself out of the cab, his weight causing the van to list to one side.

"Lay off the cheeseburgers, dude," Dean mumbled to himself.

"Come on princess, out you get."

"Princess? I've told you I'm not interested in that lifestyle, please, respect my boundaries."

Dean was sober now, completely. Happened fast enough that it was suspicious. He'd gone from being unable to walk, speak or think, to alert and fairly panicked.

If Sam didn't come…no, he would. He was good at figuring things like this out. Probably.

"Come on. Out."

Dean crossed his arms. "Make me."

Tony grinned.  
"Oh, no. Don't." Dean extricated himself from the van, revelling in the blistering yet fresher air.

Tony gripped his arm too tightly, the other hand shielding his eyes from the sun.

"So what happens now?"

"Now, I put you in the hole."  
Dean raised an eyebrow. "The hole?"

"Yeah, got a spot all picked out."

Dean rolled his eyes.

"C'mon, get moving."

"No. I'm not going in there." Dean struggled against Tony's grip, his shirt sticking to him damply.

"If you fight it'll just take longer."  
Tony pushed Dean toward the deep cavity in the cracked earth, resignedly.

"I'm not going in there."

"We can do this the easy way—"

"There is no_ 'easy way'! _This is _not_ happening!" Dean fought to keep his footing as Tony pushed him forward, toward the box sunk into the earth.

"Yeah, there is."

Tony brought up a meaty fist, bringing it down on the back of Dean's head solidly.

Dean fell forward gracelessly.

"What did I tell ya?

Tony hummed a jarring tune, grabbing the shovel from the back of the van.

He lowered the coffin lid, still droning, and began to fill the hole.

"Rest in peace, asshole."


	5. Small Frickin' Miracles

**A/N: Oosh, didn't realize how long it'd been until DearHart's review! Sorry, Dean, for leaving you in a hole in the ground for 4 months! I'll make it up to you somehow (free pie? Or something?) thanks to everyone who reviewed, hope you enjoy this, and I promise it won't be so long 'til the next update...if only I could wrap things up quickly, but this thing has come back with a vengeance! Also I've lost track of which reviews I've replied to, but thanks to anyone who reviewed, it's all down to you wonderful people :D  
**

* * *

"We're almost there. Sam," he spoke tentatively, as though sure the use of Sam's name would infuriate him, "how sure are you that you can deal with what's coming?"

His eyes, which were pale and intense, bore into Sam.

"Well, I would know the answer to that question if you answered this one; what _is_ coming?"

There was a faraway sound to Jeff's voice as he answered, slowly, dreamily, "it doesn't have a name in any human language. In mine we call it _Jugrathor_." The word was pronounced so softly that it sounded ethereal in itself. "The closest parallel for you would be the Devourer. And that's what he is." Jeff gulped all of a sudden, withdrawing into himself.

"Okay, I get that you're scared of the hungry guy, but I'm not. There's always talk and hype, and then half the time the big bad villain is nothing more than a kid in sheets. I need to know what it is, where it came from, its strengths, its weaknesses."

"It's older than time. Older than grit. It's always been."

Sam sighed loudly. "Get a move on, fairy boy."

"Hey, don't be a dick. It's like a ghoul. It feasts on flesh and blood, and bone, until there's nothing left. It has a hunger that can't be sated. It could devour every being on this planet and not think twice, or even loosen its belt, figuratively speaking."

"Yup, he's hungry. Getting it. Hasn't he ever heard of buffet dinners?"

"It's not a he, it's an it. You won't be laughing when it comes after you. It's fast and angry and soulless. It's worse than your worst nightmare."

No. Nothing was worse than his worst nightmare at this moment. Nothing was worse than losing Dean, after he'd lost so much already. They fought, and called each other names, and sometimes yeah, Dean was a total dick. But he couldn't lose him, not now, not _ever_. He'd just die. Just stop.

Sam shivered.

"I can deal with it. How do I kill this thing?"

"Buddy, it's a _ghul_. You don't just _kill_ it. No. It kills _you_."

Another shiver there, but this time for something else. That name rang a bell.

"A _ghul_? What…?"

"Oh god. You can't do it, can you?"

* * *

Oh, this was priceless.

Six feet under. And he didn't even have the decency to be dead.

Dean groaned loudly, knowing no-one would hear anyway. His head was killing him, he had dirt in his ears, and his fingers throbbed.

_Well done. Jerk. Stupid jerk. Arrogant bastard. Stupid, arrogant son-of-a-bitch. Hope you're happy._

And Sammy didn't even know where he was.

Greeeaaaat.

Dean made an effort to stay calm, but it was hard when he felt himself struggling for breath. His uninjured hand instinctually searched the cramped box for an opening, for _anything_.

He hadn't really known until now how claustrophobic he was.

Thinking about small spaces and actually being trapped in them was quite a different experience.

"Saaaaaaaaaaaam!" He cried hertwrenchingly, his eyes inadvertently filling with tears.

He liked to think he was an optimist, but right now…he had neither a speck of light nor a glimmer of hope anywhere within his confine.

Oh god. Why like this? Why out of all possible endings did it have to be _this_, this terror and misery and dreadful despair?

He couldn't find a reason to stop the sobs when they came, great heaves and shudders, right from the centre of him. He couldn't think of a worse fate at that moment.

Until he heard it.

* * *

The sound, a dry scratch, sent a ripple of pure awareness through his body, as though he had been electrocuted. He _knew_ without knowing how that this was it. The boss they all spoke about.

But he wasn't their boss, was he? He was something darker.

_Keep it together, Dean._

But there would be no-one to witness his death, so why should he be calm? Why shouldn't he scream until he couldn't scream? Why shouldn't he fight and cry and rage until the end came?

"You here for me? Well you better get started, or I'll get bored! Maybe I'll come find you!"

His voice was hoarse but it carried a measure of authority.

The scratching stopped, and there was a muffled sound, like rocks grinding together, or thick paper tearing.

It took Dean a long, long time to realize it was a laugh.

* * *

"This is it? You're sure?"

"Yes! For the hundredth time _yes_!"

Sam tore form the car, which had begun to feel like a coffin, and across the empty waste.

"Where?" His voice was frantic, desperate as all he saw before him was desert.

"I—" Jeff came up behind him. "Oh. We're too late."

Sam spun, towering over the effeminate figure of the elf. In that moment he was more terrifying than anything Jeff had ever seen.

"_Tell me where he is!_"

"Tony!" Jeff managed to squeak, pointing behind Sam's back.

For someone so large, Tony had been remarkably quiet in sneaking up on Sam.

It looked a ridiculous pairing. Sam looked far too lean compared to the sheer bulk of the other.

And yet…and yet even as Jeff watched them circle each other, he knew he had backed a champion. There was strength in Sam that made everything else, the physical differences, meaningless. Here was the desperate need of a frightened, lonely child, and the power of a hunter, a predator.

Sam was capable of so much. And not necessarily good. Jeff could see Sam's future. There was a fork in his road. Sam was destined for greatness…or darkness.

And here he was matched against this giant, David against Goliath, and Jeff knew he could take him.

* * *

Sam felt like he had been awake for days, years even.

They circled each other like great prairie animals. Each watching the other's eyes, their movement.

Sam knew how odd they must look. He was about to fight a troll. And yet…the way Sam felt now...powerful. Different. Capable of victory.

When the first blow came he was psyched. A tingling, _ready_ sensation washed over him, and it was all he could do to suppress a battle cry.

* * *

He hated the phrase, but thank god for small. Frickin'. Miracles.

He had felt the contours of it against his back. It had been an uncomfortable sensation at first, a solid block punishing his hip. And then realization struck.

His beautiful Colt 1911 45 caliber, standard with 7-round magazine.

Oh hell yes.


End file.
